


Ice Blue

by schulott



Series: Ice Blue [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF, Formula 2 RPF
Genre: Getting Together, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Shirt Gate, i also sprinkled some crack lines into it, i have now (hopefully) fixed most mistakes, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28437588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schulott/pseuds/schulott
Summary: Callum cannot say that he thinks he should take the blame for being unprepared for the prize giving - after all, it is not like they would have planned on going anywhere outside of the track that would have necessitated him burdening himself with packing a set of fancy clothes. The fact that there has been effectively no notice (to him, at least,) of anything that would happen at the track definitely also had not helped him in any way whatsoever.
Relationships: Callum Ilott/Mick Schumacher
Series: Ice Blue [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084340
Comments: 12
Kudos: 110





	Ice Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I do not claim to own any of these characters, and this is a work of fiction, and is not intended to be any reference to, or be any likeness to any people in real life.
> 
> And yes I wrote this instead of sleep and it's now 6 am and I regret everything and if it makes no sense I'm sorry LMAO
> 
> Update: It's 1 pm and I have reread this and edited out some mistakes and sprinkled some crack and I'm still sorry LMAOOO

Callum cannot say that he thinks he should take the blame for being unprepared for the prize giving - after all, it is not like they would have planned on going anywhere outside of the track that would have necessitated him burdening himself with packing a set of fancy clothes. The fact that there has been effectively no notice (to him, at least,) of anything that would happen at the track definitely also had not helped him in any way whatsoever.

Granted, yes, he did not check his email on Sunday morning - but he had a championship to try and win, and you cannot blame him for focusing singly on just that rather than poking around on his phone to read e-mails like a grandad reading his morning paper on a weekend morning. Plus, what could he do if he had found out _on the day_ that he needs to be prepared for a podium when he is in the middle of a desert? He could hardly untie lanyards that are stuck together, he definitely could not suddenly become a magician and pull his button downs and trousers out of thin air when they are safely stashed away at home.

So, yeah, what could he do? It is not until Marcus was talking to him about a prize presentation at the track that he had any inkling of the event, pulling out his phone to look at his inbox, after initially staring at Marcus like he had grown another head and started speaking Spanish.

“Wait. You don’t know that it’s a thing?” Marcus had asked surprisedly.

“I haven’t decided yet if you’re shitting me or if it’s really a thing.” He had muttered as he scanned through his emails.

Callum just does his little shrug and throws his hands up a little, when he sees the notice of it, being sent that very morning.

“What’s the point of telling someone that it’s happening on the day?”

Marcus, unsympathetic as he is, just cackled. “So what’s the plan? Going out there wearing one of your fancy t-shirts?”

Callum just flips him off as he stalks off, brainstorming for a solution as he retreats to the Virtuosi garage.

Truth be told, with only two hours on hand, his options are pretty much limited to asking around and hoping for the best, with the alternatives being going out there looking incredibly out of place, or just disappearing into the desert and pretending that the ceremony does not exist.

To his misfortune, the standard response that he gets when asking around is pretty much various versions of “mate, why in the world would I pack shirts and pants when all we do is sitting in a hotel and going to track?” which is what he would have said, had someone told him to pack something without providing any context.

He would not say it is desperation, but he got to the point of asking Rene if he happens to have a little something that he could borrow, notwithstanding the fact that he would look like he is drowning in them if Rene did have something for him.

Rene, to his credit, looks to have much more common sense than Callum had at that moment, and gave him a look of “you’re shitting me”, before walking to the far corner of the garage where, belatedly, Callum sees a red cap, and then ice-blue eyes looking straight at him and the face that has an unreadable expression. Mick.

It is not like Callum has forgotten Mick exists, or that he is avoiding Mick. No.

They are friends, after all. Having been teammates in the past, and being both part of the FDA - they would always have a word when they cross paths, text when they do not; sharing a laugh time and again, and all that that would occur in every friendship. While there is probably no one that would come close to dethroning Marcus from the title of being his bestie in the paddock - they were roommates after all - there is something about Mick that is just different, and Callum cannot place what it is.

Perhaps it is something about Mick sometimes being just so sober and grounded when they talk, or that they would have deep-talks that they sometimes fall into, when it is just the two of them, one-on-one. Perhaps it is the kindness Mick always shows. Perhaps it is the feeling that there is just something a tad different between the two of them, though he would dispute his own judgement on the last one. The long and short of it is: He is not too sure.

So, no. It is not that he has a problem with Mick.

It is just that it has been hard, when you are fighting for the championship against each other. Not that there is bad blood to be found between them, but just the competitiveness in their bones and the stresses that come with it. Fighting for the same thing makes everything harder, after all, seeing as the other person becomes your greatest competition and rival. It is not like they have stopped talking, or stopped laughing with each other, but their interactions became a bit harder, a bit more rigid, and oftentimes they seem to be tip-toeing, skirting around the thought of the championship that is in the forefront of both their minds. There was a time when even the topic of next year became a sort of thing that Mick avoided inconspicuously, before Callum picked up on it and tells him that everyone and their dog knows that Mick is going to be in a Haas seat and Callum most likely on the sidelines, and there is no reason that 2021 should become a touchy subject for them.

It is though, there is an overarching feeling that there is something like a force field between them, and they just seem to drift apart a little. Not much, but noticeable to Callum nonetheless, and he wonders if Mick has picked up on it as well.

So, yeah, maybe it is Callum’s subconsciousness that has diverted him away from Mick when checking off the list of options of generous lenders of clothes. Even if he had literally congratulated Mick less than an hour ago.

Maybe he is a bit deep inside his head, as he has totally missed the part where Rene said something to Mick, who nods along, and the bit where Mick walked up to right in front of him, as he realises Mick is right in front of him when he snaps out of his trance.

“You’re looking for clothes?” Mick queries, with a little tilt of his head. The air between them is a little tense, for some reason, and Mick is still levelling him with _a look_ that Callum cannot really place, but he pushes all that aside, as there are more urgent matters at hand.

He scratches the back of his neck a bit.

“Uhm. Yeah. I haven’t really packed anything at all. Didn’t know there’s a ceremony until like fifteen minutes ago.”

“Come with me.” Mick says with a pat on his arm, turning on his heels to lead him through the back of the garage and towards where he assumes is his driver room.

“You’ve got spares?” Callum’s brain finally catches up to it, as Mick closes the door behind them.

Mick has, metaphorically, put him on hold for a second, as he does not react, and instead unzips a bag and tilts it over to show Callum its contents.

“Yeah. Unless you are also looking for shoes for some reason.” Mick says as he unloads the contents of the bag carefully and tidily on the table next to them.

He always gives Mick stick for being over-prepared for everything, knowing that it is just one of his traits, but he has to say this is on another level.

“Do I want to know why you have packed two of everything _and_ brought them to the track with you?”

“You complaining?” Mick retorts, complete with a shoulder check that makes Callum stumble a little.

“Nah.” Callum concedes, “it’s better than disappearing into the desert and pretending I’ve never been around”.

Mick snorts involuntarily, and that is familiar - Callum’s propensity to amuse Mick with random commentary, sometimes with a healthy sprinkle of dramaticness that just comes natural to him.

“Come on, if you want, you can try these and see if it’s alright.” Mick says instead, pushing a blue shirt and a pair of pants across the table.

“Oh, you can have this too,” he says, as he adds a belt to the top of the pile “in case you need it.” Before gesturing to Callum’s waist as a sort of explanation.

“Yeah, I think the pants should be alright,” he says as he examines the size tag, “they’re about my size.”

He is about to heed Mick's suggestion to try the shirt out, on the verge of stripping out of his polo, when Mick speaks up again.

“I can step out if you want?”

He shrugs, he is not about to be some rude person when Mick has probably single-handedly saved his ass. “Nah, it’s fine - I’m not about to kick you out of your room,” so Mick sits down on the chair in the far corner of the room, while Callum finally pulls off his polo.

It is not that having Mick around makes his predicament any easier, far from it, and despite that, he has for the most part succeeded in pushing aside any thoughts that are anywhere close to inappropriate, some even _unholy_ , as he changes into Mick’s shirt.

That is until he catches Mick staring at him when he is buttoning up.

Mick quickly averts his eyes, as Callum feels a hitch in his own breath, trying to finish his task at hand which somehow has suddenly grown a few magnitudes more daunting. Frustrated by his fingers that have decided to call it quits and start malfunctioning at that moment, he instead leaves one more button undone and turns to the mirror to inspect himself.

He gets a glimpse of Mick in the reflection, and sees that he is still staring at his own hands like they are the most interesting thing in the world.

Ignoring his own heart that is beating in no way close to the definition of healthy, he turns and tries to defuse the situation - or make it worse - it's anyone's bet, “What do you think?”

Mick seems a bit startled by the question - which is uncharacteristic to say the least, given he has the handle of himself most of the time, but he does sweep his eyes across Callum’s body, before looking him in the eye. “I like the way you carry it.”

Mick is giving him _that look_ again. The tension in the air is suddenly very noticeable, so thick that one could probably slice it with a butterknife. And it is different from before - it is not the same as the one that has been prevalent lately that stems from their fight for the championship - but something else.

Before he could say anything though, they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Mick breaks their gaze, instead walking towards the door. “Yes?” He answers, as he opens the door.

Someone tells Mick that his presence is needed outside, so Mick agrees to step out. Before he leaves, he pokes his head back around the door and tells Callum that he can take the set of clothes with him if he’s happy with it, and then he is gone.

\--

When Callum returns to the Virtuosi garage, he finds Marcus loitering there. He will bet good money on him being there to poke fun at any potential suffering Callum is going through.

“How’s the hunt?” Marcus asks without any shortage of amusement as he spots Callum from across the garage. By way of answering, Callum shows him the set of clothes in his arms, and Marcus’ eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He does not make a comment on how Marcus would kill to have his hairline reach where his eyebrows are at that moment. That would be a self-own and a half.

“I’m impressed you managed to get something.” Marcus comments as he follows Callum into his driver room uninvited, flopping down on a chair opposite Callum’s.

Callum shrugs, non-committal, as he goes to pull out his phone to read something on Instagram instead.

“You’re acting suspicious.”

“No?” Callum defends himself, perhaps a little too quickly.

“Okay. Who’s those then?” Marcus nods towards the pile of clothes on the shelf where Callum has left them. He looks like he knows the answer to the question already, and Callum does not know if he likes the idea of that.

“You know, people.” He says instead, not tearing his eyes away from his phone.

“Uh huh, people.” Marcus humours him for a moment, before calling it out, “it’s Mick isn’t it? I recognise that belt.”

Callum just shrugs a little helplessly at that. “Yeah.”

Marcus looks like he wants to say more, but Callum cuts him off with a sigh. “Look, I know what you want to say. I just don’t think it is the right time now.”

Marcus levels him a look for a moment, but relents in the end.

“You know you have to address it some time.”

He cannot really argue with that, but truth be told, Callum is hell bent on putting it off for as long as he could. Preferably if it just goes away without him having to ever address it.

_Matters of the heart_ , as Marcus likes to describe it.

Who is Callum kidding really? Even if he is deep in the rabbit hole of denial, he knows he likes Mick. A lot.

All the thoughts that he has had about Mick - he has played it off as anything but how his heart feels about Mick.

He always liked it when Mick does something goofy, cracks a joke and opens up to people he is comfortable with - instead of the indecipherable _professional_ facade that he puts up sometimes.

He liked the calmness and thoughtfulness that Mick has, he may have jokingly called Mick a philosopher once, but if he is being real for a second, it is the reason sometimes people will just find him and Mick standing to the side and talking. Mick always has a perspective of things, and always listens. And in turn, Mick is willing to let Callum know what he is thinking.

Mick’s perceptiveness is also a thing that he thinks about a lot. That one time, a few weeks after Spa, he was pulled aside in the paddock by Mick just as he was about to leave, with the promise of a drink - and that night he let thoughts flow freely for the first time since that weekend. Mick listened to everything he had to say, and in the end gave him a hug, letting him know he gets it, that he should not beat himself up for anything.

And those eyes; that smile - when it is directed at him, sometimes glowing when reacting to something Callum has said or done.

So, yeah. The long and short of it, is that feelings may very much be involved.

Marcus would unceremoniously brand that as understatement of the year. He would not be wrong, given he had the box seat of Callum going through it, seeing as they literally have lived in each other's pocket for a few years. It is not like Marcus has turned into his agony aunt or anything, far from it, but Callum has done and said enough for Marcus to know - Marcus would need to be blind _and_ deaf to not pick up on anything - like the time when Marcus levelled him with an unimpressed look when he witnessed Callum calling up Mick when he found out that they were both going to do the test at Fiorano and spent a good part of half an hour on the line talking about god knows what.

“There’s nothing huh? Next thing you know I’d be Australian.” Marcus has quipped then, when Callum finally put down his phone.

\--

“Earth to Callum?” Marcus more or less yells, as Callum finally snaps out of his reminiscing. He really needs to stop zoning out, the season has literally just ended and he is already checking out of everything. Bad form, really.

\--

He walked around the paddock with Marcus, killing some time and catching up with people milling around, talking to the likes of Jüri and Guanyu about plans over the break, which consisted mostly of celebrating Christmas with family, then getting stuck at home, getting bored and getting lazy for a little bit and mostly involuntary nothingness, but it is probably for the best.

Then before he knows it, it is time for the prize giving, the one that he did not even know existed when he got out of his beloved red-and-black Dallara for the last time a few hours ago. He flips off Marcus, who is making kissy faces at him, as he peels off into his garage, and finds himself engaging in a stare down with Mick’s clothes again.

He briefly considered it while getting ready, and in the end decided to leave an extra button undone again, and he finds the familiar ice blue eyes looking at him again, as he arrives at the podium room, with all the others there already.

“Looking smart.” Mick comments, as Callum bumps fists with him and Yuki.

“Well, I was provided with a good wardrobe.” Callum responds with a little sass, which draws a chuckle and a fond shake of head out of Mick.

Callum strikes up a conversation with Yuki, as the organisers are getting ready for the ceremony to begin, and Mick seems content to let them talk, just chipping in with a comment here and there when prompted, as Mick seems to be thinking hard over something, and Callum lets him be for the moment.

They look on in amusement, as Yuki gets called out to the podium for one thing or another, doing a quick interview, coming back - only to get called back out again for another thing.

“You’d think there’s an easier way to do all of this.” Callum comments idly.

“Yeah, I know.” Mick answers, perhaps a touch more strongly than Callum would expect.

He looks over at Mick, it is quick moment, but he finds Mick looking straight at him, and is left wondering if he is seeing things again, or if Mick is commenting on something else entirely. There is no time to dwell though, as it turns out this time is finally the time for the Formula 2 podium, and Callum is ushered to go out after Yuki, before Mick also joins them out there.

The ceremony drags on a little longer, as each of them is asked of their thoughts, and while Callum congratulates Mick on the championship again and speaks of his plans for the next year, Mick, on top of thanking everyone involved in his championship effort, goes on to specifically thank Callum for the fight that he has given him and for motivating him to push harder, all the while glancing over at Callum, as if he is saying it directly to him, rather than giving an answer to an interview question, and it reaches him a little, knowing that Mick is genuine about what he is saying.

Callum has waited around for Mick while he stayed out at the podium for the photos with Oscar - partly due to the fact that he is asked by the photographer to go somewhere for pictures with the trophy; and partly due to the fact that he feels like he needs to talk to Mick. Mick agrees easily, when asked to go with them for some more photos with the trophy, and while they have not managed to get a word in before the photos, they are left alone as they walk back across the paddock, their trophies in hand.

“You know,” Mick starts, as they walk side-by-side, “I meant what I said. I wouldn’t have done as well without you here.”

Callum hums, stalling a little as he chooses his words. “Yeah. I gave all I had. You deserved this, there is no doubt about it.”

Mick grows quiet again, looking out into the distance for a little bit, and Callum glances next to him to make sure Mick has not just stopped somewhere and left him continuing on down the path. He finds Mick frowning a little, seeming to be mulling over something.

“I know it may not mean a lot, but I am happy that it was you that I was racing against, because if you’d have won, I’d have been happy for you.”

And while Callum manages to keep walking, his mind has set off on a rollercoaster ride. Not that he expects anything else from Mick, but he is nonetheless a little bit wrongfooted by it. He manages though, to put a hand on Mick’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. “It does mean a lot. And I hope you know that I am happy for you right now.”

They reach the Virtuosi garage, Callum stopping outside and about to peel off, probably bidding Mick goodnight and going back to his hotel room to have a mini-crisis about everything. But the plan is thrown out of the window when Mick stops with him.

“Do you want to head back to the hotel together? Have a drink and catch up a little?” Mick asks tentatively, though Callum finds something akin to determination in Mick’s eyes. Callum’s head says that it is probably not a good idea, lest he does something stupid when he already feels like he is floundering, though his heart screams yes. And in the end, it is not really a contest, and he agrees to it before he could overthink it.

He quickly retrieves his things - including his clothes - throwing them into a bag, and sticking the trophy into it as well, with the top part of it sticking out comically. Mick eyes that with amusement when he meets Mick at the entrance to the paddock, and he jokingly suggests that Mick is just jealous that he did not come up with this genius idea to free his hand from holding the trophy. Mick humours him in mock agreement while focusing on looking for their ride.

Callum falls silent on the ride back, finally realising that he needed a breather from everything that has been happening, content on letting Mick talk intermittently to fill the silence, talking about things like Gina’s horse riding, or the test next week in Abu Dhabi. He hangs around the reception at the hotel when they finally got back, Mick stopping there to order some white wine to be delivered to his room. Callum only raises his eyebrows at him when they are waiting for an elevator, commenting that Mick is being going for a fancier option when beer would have sufficed for both of them.

“Eh. We’re allowed.” Mick runs a hand to muss up his hair a little, his cap now thrown into his trophy. “Plus, it is better than some beer that you don’t know if it’s gonna be good or not.”

“Fair. It'd be sad to win a championship and end up drinking something that tastes like piss.”

Mick decides to ignore what he has just said, probably for the better.

Callum intended to head back to his room, change out of Mick’s clothes, before heading back over, but before he could walk any further down the corridor, Mick intercepts him and he finds himself sitting by the window, looking out into the Bahraini night sky, with their bags and trophies placed in the corner of the room, and Mick opening the window to let some air in. They have barely settled down when there is a knock on the door, and Mick disappears to the entrance, before returning with two bottles and two glasses in his hands. Callum takes the bottles out of his hand to uncap one of them, as Mick sets down the glasses on the table, and he fills the glasses.

They sit on the windowsill, the space wide enough for them to be sat facing each other, and talk about everything and nothing - Marcus moving out; Callum’s Christmas plan that consists of “sleeping for 30 years”; Mick echoing his tiredness and saying that he is looking forward to going back to Switzerland; the shows that they plan to catch up on; and other things that Callum keeps losing track of, as they move from one thing to the other. With them being a third through the second bottle, and the outside world growing quiet, as the evening stretches into the night, they somehow land on the topic of Callum’s feeling of being not enough.

“You know that is not true.” Mick interjects somewhere along the lines, as Callum was about to give a rundown of everything he thinks he could have done better since 1998, fair or not.

“It’s not about the championship.” Callum protests. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’m happy for you.”

“And I’m not doubting that.” Mick agrees.

“Then what?”

Mick grows silent, which starts to stretch in the room, as they both finish off their glasses, setting them aside on the ground, Callum turning his head to stare out into the darkness.

“In the end, I’m out of a seat next year.” He says, matter-of-factly, without any malice or resentment.

That seems to awake Mick from whatever trance he was in, as he stands up and picks up their glasses and puts them back on the table - forever the organised person he is. He then sits back at the windowsill, though a bit closer to Callum this time, and with his back against the frame.

“That does not define you, you know.”

Callum just sort of nods, thoughts brewing in his head.

Mick, without looking at him, reaches out and points at him, finger touching the bare skin on Callum’s chest exposed by doing up one less button.

“I can tell you why I think you’re great. In a lot of ways.”

Callum makes a non-committal hum, though he looks back at Mick with an ounce of curiosity, and struggles not to shudder at the brief contact.

Mick starts with the things about racing, starting all the way back from when they were teammates that year in Formula 3, that he has always been a consistently fast driver, that he gives his all always, just that the luck of the draw does not swing in his favour enough - that without him being where he is this year, Mick would not have worked as hard or be as motivated for the championship, and how they together led one of the strongest fields in the series in recent years.

He then moves on to talking about Callum as a person, about how he admires how Callum has a knack for making light out of most situations, how he managed to smile and face most challenges, how he has it in him to decide to have a laugh about things rather than stew over them. That he would nonetheless push harder and work towards his goals.

He talks about how he thinks Callum has some quick wit, time and again throwing off people around him with his utterances and answers that are technically correct but amuses him and everyone else all the same. He then moves on to how Callum is open to be there and listens to his thoughts without any judgment and really understands him, that they can confide in each other about their thoughts without any preconditions. He mentions how they have not let it all grow sour, even if they have been fighting tooth and nail for the championship, that they respect each other despite the competition.

Callum is not sure when it happened, but he has turned around to look at Mick directly, and Mick is staring back at him in the eyes, and the tension that he felt back in the Prema garage once again hangs heavily in the air.

“And…” Mick seems to have something on the tip of his tongue, but trails off.

“And?” Callum prompts, and Mick shuffles a little in place. Being unsure is for sure uncharacteristic of Mick. Belatedly, he realises they are so close to each other. If he reaches out right now, he could run his fingers through Mick’s hair, and probably pull him in…

“I hope you won’t hate me.” Mick says, a bit out of the blue.

He frowns a little, confusion evident on his face, but he nonetheless affirms that there is no reason that would happen that he is aware of. “I don’t think there would be any reason I would.”

“Not even if I tell you how I like your eyes? Or that smirk you have when you have made a joke that you are secretly proud of?”

Callum’s heart is suddenly _pounding_ , and his mind going a mile a minute, trying to figure out if he has somehow gotten drunk without realising, or that he has finally got mad from his denial, or for some reason started hallucinating.

“I am not sure if I follow.” He says instead, though his eyes are flicking between Mick’s face and lips, his traitorous heart telling him things that he has willed himself never to wish for.

A hand comes up to touch Callum lightly on the face.

Callum’s brain has officially run out of any alternative explanations to why exactly they are in this position. He is holding his breath without even realising it.

“You can say no, and I’ll back off.” Mick says, trying to sound calm but Callum can hear the little hint of uncertainty in it. They probably really know each other better than they even realise.

And oddly, Callum feels more confident right now, probably fueled by a little sprinkle of Dutch courage as well, his sudden bout of self-doubt all but a footnote in their memories.

“What if I say yes instead?” He says with a little smirk. Feeling a little adventurous, he reaches out and does what he has thought about just moments ago, and threads his fingers through Mick’s hair, before using his hand as leverage to pull Mick closer, to bridge the small gap between them.

It is as if there is a jolt of electricity running through them the moment their lips touch, as Callum feels much more alert than he has been since he has entered this room, and Mick is now holding his face with both his hands, and Callum is kissing back at Mick, giving as good as he has to it. They only break apart when they are both out of air, heaving as they pause to get air back into their lungs.

Callum stands up, drawing Mick back into another kiss, and now with a slight height advantage, he kisses down at Mick, both being more assured of what they are doing the second time round, though the feeling is still no less electric than the first. Callum slowly walks Mick back towards the bed, before climbing on and hovers over Mick when he falls back onto it.

“I really like seeing you wear my clothes. You look good.” Mick says in a whisper.

“Any bets if I'd look good out of it?” Callum says back without missing a beat. While saying flirty things at friends is like second nature to him, he has always refrained from doing so with Mick, for obvious reasons. But now he no longer feels constricted by himself from doing that anymore.

Instead of answering, Mick makes quick work of the buttons on Callum’s - his - shirt.

\--

Mick wakes up feeling a little tired, not exactly hungover though. His brain is just a little blank, like it is still processing a lot of things as he stares up at the ceiling, and trying to get a hold of his senses.

Except, he remembers something, and he finds several things at hand:

(1) he is in a very advanced state of undress under the sheets

(2) there is a weight on his chest and around his waist

(3) there is a mop of brown hair in front of him as he looks down

(4) that the piece of information his brain just supplied him is not a dream, but reality

(5) it is Callum right here in his bed

A Callum that is very much awake, because he seems to notice that Mick has woken up, probably his increasing heart rate giving him away.

“Tell me you’re not panicking.” Callum says without moving an inch from partly on top of him.

“I’m not.” Mick says, as he allows himself to run a hand through Callum’s hair.

“I don’t regret what happened,” Callum says, “I think it was half decent.”

Mick rolls his eyes. “Half decent huh?”

“Mhm.” Callum affirms, rolling off Mick and lies back on his back. “That was a bad sleep posture for me.”

He cannot help but snort at that.

They stay like that for a while, neither of them moving, though Callum still has a leg stuck between Mick’s.

Mick would like to think he usually has quite a good read of Callum, but right now, in unchartered territory, he has absolutely no read of his thoughts. There is, though, a question on the tips of his tongue.

“You’re stewing over something.” Callum finally says, turning his head to look at Mick.

Mick does not deny it, but just hums in agreement and continues to thread his finger through Callum’s hair.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

Mick wrinkles his nose for a moment, shifts a little, and retracts his hand from Callum’s hair.

“So, that happened.”

“Yup, I didn’t know you wanted to be known as Captain Obvious when you already are Mister Prepared.”

He rolls his eyes.

“What I was trying to say is,” Mick starts again, bracing himself a little, “what now?”

“You sure you’re not panicking?”

“Jesus, Callum.” He huffs, “I don’t know about you but I don’t just go out and bed people randomly.”

“Well, not sure who bedded who there,” Callum starts, and Mick is about to whack him over the head with a pillow, but Callum seems to finally co-operate a little, as he finally gives a straight answer. Well nothing straight about it, but Mick is not about to go into the rabbit hole of word play inside his own brain.

“I mean, if it’s not obvious to you, I quite like you.” Callum says, staring at the ceiling.

Mick lets out a breath that he does not know he has been holding.

“Good. I think it was quite obvious to you that I like you.”

“Okay, now we’ve got that figured out, can we have a shower? Cause we are absolutely filthy.”

Mick does not need any convincing for that.

\--

The sun is high up in the sky when they return from the shower, disproving the theory that sharing a shower could save some water - due to the fact that Callum just stood there holding him from behind and Mick letting him do that and they ended up just standing there for god knows how long under the stream of warm water while Callum noses his hair, muttering that he wants to burn all of Mick's caps.

When Callum finally retrieves his phone from his bag, dressed in his FDA shirt and shorts that he has with him and lounging on Mick’s bed, sitting with his back against Mick’s side, he finally starts scrolling through his messages and, among others, he sees a few from Marcus.

  
  


_Still not back in your room? Suspicious._

_Prema is celebrating and Mick is missing? Very suspicious._

_I might be permanently traumatised by the suspicious sounds coming out of Mick’s room._

Mick just laughs when Callum shows him the messages, instead pulling Callum in for another kiss.

This is good. There really seems to be nothing for him to complain about.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~can't believe i've really snapped and gone and wrote a rpf~~
> 
> you can find me on Tumblr (but it's a side account like this ao3 a/c): [schulott](https://schulott.tumblr.com/).


End file.
